


Cigarettes and Liquor Bottles

by lostinparallel



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Crushes, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon, Smoking, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25610542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinparallel/pseuds/lostinparallel
Summary: Rex struggles to wrap his head around his recently appointed jedi general.
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 230





	Cigarettes and Liquor Bottles

**Author's Note:**

> not only is this the first thing i've posted in nearly 2 years but it's also my first ever star wars fic! title based on [new americana](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBZwZ2dyjBY) by halsey.

The 501st are scattered throughout 79’s. Some perch at the bar, bodies angled towards each other, knees bumping as they chat animatedly. Others have made their way to the dancefloor, lost in the sea of gyrating bodies. Rex, General Skywalker and at least a dozen more clones are seated around an absurdly crowded table, drinking and laughing and playing cards.

Rex does his best to keep an eye on his men. He does the occasional headcount, steps in if the friendly banter morphs into something a little heated, leads troopers away by the elbow if they start getting too rowdy with the other customers. There's a voice in Rex's head that isn't his own. Gentle, concerned, a tad exasperated. Cody.

_I thought it was a jedi’s job to play peacekeeper._

Skywalker is sitting opposite Rex, one arm slung around his Corporal’s shoulders, swaying them both as he drunkenly croons the words to some old-school love song over the already near-deafening thrum of club music. Rex finds his eyes glued to Skywalker’s mouth, the general’s lips spreading in a smile so carefree and unguarded as he sings that Rex almost has to look away. The disconnect between the cocksure war general of the 501st and this playful, young man is dizzying. Sometimes Rex forgets that Skywalker is barely an adult, like himself, like most their legion – shiny clones for an equally shiny general.

He can’t understand why Skywalker is here, celebrating with the men. It’s almost unheard of in the GAR for a jedi to act chummy with their clone troopers. Often, Skywalker treats them more like friends than soldiers, like equals. Then again, considering what Cody had said of General Kenobi, perhaps Rex should’ve known that Skywalker would be even more unconventional than his master. Only three missions as general under his belt and he was drinking with Rex’s brothers like he'd known them since they were in growth tubes.

It soon becomes too much for Rex – the booming dance music, the alcohol buzzing in his brain, the suffocating heat of the bar, the way his stomach flips at the drunken blush dusting Skywalker’s cheeks. He stands, almost to attention, and excuses himself from the table.

Skywalker immediately notices his escape. “Hey,” he slurs, his eyes roaming from his drink until they land unsteadily on Rex’s face, “where’re you going?” His brows are furrowed, bottom lip jutting out in a childlike pout, like he doesn’t want Rex to leave.

 _Rex_ doesn’t want Rex to leave. The realisation hits him like a plasma bolt to the gut. He stiffens, hot shame crawling along the back of his neck. “Just goin’ to get some fresh air, General,” he says, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. He steels himself and weaves through the throngs of bar-goers until he’s pushing out of 79’s.

The cool night air rushes to greet him. Rex wraps his arms around his middle, regretting wearing only a civvy jacket over his blacks. The neon city lights are almost blinding in his tipsy state. He squints, stumbling through the small clusters of people gathered outside until his hands meet cold metal. He grips the guardrail like a lifeline, struggling to steady his breathing as the hum of Coruscanti air-traffic threatens to knock him off his feet.

What the hell was wrong with him? There was a word for clones who behaved like this and Rex knew it, could feel it prickling beneath his skin, a sharp taste on the back of his tongue, like a warning. Defective. The Kaminoan higher-ups had thought so too. He was too soft, too protective, too concerned with the wellbeing of his brothers – and now his general. Master Yoda had disagreed, had seen these weaknesses in Rex's evaluation and rebranded them: _compassionate, nurturing, a perfect match for young Skywalker._

Rex can feel eyes on him. He must look like he’s off his ass, which shouldn’t be much of a spectacle given his surroundings. After a moment’s deliberation, he digs a packet of cigarettes and a custom blue lighter out of his jacket pocket. Eventually, his hands stop shaking enough to light the damn thing and he places the cigarette between his lips. He draws in a deep breath and manages to hold it for a few seconds before sputtering. Too much. He’s a little out of practice. He tries again, inhaling, holding the smoke in his lungs and exhaling shakily. He leans heavily against the guardrail, the stress of command, the exhaustion of too many battles and the lack of decent sleep finally catching up with him.

He can hear Cody’s voice inside his head again, grilling him. _Slow down, Rex’ika._ _You gotta look after yourself. COs don’t get to be a mess._

Rex takes a drag of his cigarette, scoffs. “Piss off, Codes. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Rex?”

Rex spins around so fast he almost swallows his cigarette. “General Skywalker, sir.” He chokes, straightens, and briefly considers chucking his cigarette into the skylane, like a child caught misbehaving.

Skywalker wobbles over to him, smiling. “At ease, Rex. We’re off-duty.” He stops beside Rex and leans forward, bracing his forearms against the guardrail, a bottle of hooch clutched in his right hand. “You alright?”

His concern catches Rex off-guard “Y-yes, sir. Just needed some fresh air is all.”

Skywalker doesn’t look at him. His eyes trace the horizon, content to watch the speeders whizz by. Rex is suddenly, painfully aware of how tall the general is. Even hunched over, Rex still has to look up at him. That eerily familiar heat creeps along Rex’s clammy skin. He takes another drag of his cigarette. Damn gangly _jetii_.

Skywalker turns to him, alcohol sloshing inside its bottle. Rex averts his gaze. Fuck.

“Didn’t peg you for the smoking type,” Skywalker says, raising an eyebrow. The resemblance to General Kenobi is uncanny.

Rex shifts. “I’ve been tryin’ to quit, sir,” he lifts the cigarette to his lips, inhales, exhales, watches the smoke dissipate, “somewhat unsuccessfully.”

Skywalker lifts both hands, metal and flesh – Rex forgets which is which. Some of the general's drink spills onto his tunic but whether he doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care, Rex is unsure. “Hey, no judgement here.”

Rex sighs softly, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease a little. “Do you smoke, sir?”

Skywalker hums as if confused by the question. “Oh, nah. Could never stand the smell.” A beat passes. “It’s fine, though,” he quickly reassures, seeming to read Rex’s thoughts. “I don’t mind, really.”

Rex taps his cigarette and watches ash fall into the open air below. For a moment, he clocks how high above Coruscant’s ground level they are. If Skywalker notices the way Rex scoots a little closer to him, he pays it no mind. The two of them stand there in companionable silence as Rex continues to smoke, watching the cityscape.

Rex doesn’t know how much time has passed but the street is quieter, the people gathered outside of 79’s either having decided to head back inside or return to their homes. Rex shivers, the late-night chill settling under his clothes.

“You cold?”

Rex hadn’t realised how close the general was. He tries to play off his panic, stubbing out his cigarette on the guardrail before tossing it into a nearby garbage can. He belatedly remembers that Skywalker asked him a question. “A little,” he admits. He immediately misses having something to do with his hands, electing to fidget with his fingers instead. The next thing Rex knows, Skywalker is shrugging off his robe and stepping into Rex’s space. Rex flusters, “Ah, no—I’m alright, sir.”

“It’s _fine._ ” Skywalker says. “I’m too warm, anyway.” He gingerly drapes his jedi robe around Rex’s shoulders and, for a second, Rex feels the heat emanating from him. He shudders, which only spurs the general on, guiding Rex’s arms through the oversized sleeves and tugging the material tighter around his chest. “Better?”

It’s fucking huge on Rex. He looks down, hoping to hide the increasingly obvious flush on his cheeks. The sleeves completely dwarf his hands. “With all due respect, sir, this is ridiculous.”

Skywalker lets out a laugh. He looks Rex up and down, silently appraising. “It suits you.”

Rex’s brain short-circuits. Warmth pools in his belly. Shit, he must be drunker than he realises. “If you say so, sir.”

Skywalker huffs, blowing away a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. “Quit it with the formality already. We’re off-duty, remember?” He cocks his head, considering. “Call me Anakin.”

Rex is stunned. He looks away, concedes. “Yes, sir.” Skywalker laughs and Rex glances up, realising his mistake.

“You’re impossible, Captain.” Although Skywalker rolls his eyes, his smile is fond.

Rex’s mouth twitches upwards in return. “I follow your example, sir.”

Quiet settles between them, soft and comfortable like the robe wrapped around Rex’s frame. 79’s must be mostly empty by now. Rex considers going back inside to collect his men, saving the barkeeper from having to kick them out, but something stirs in him, small and selfish. No, he thinks. They can manage getting home without him, just this once.

Skywalker breaks the brief silence. “Hey, Rex?”

“Sir?”

“What are you gonna do once this is all over?”

Rex stares at him, momentarily floored.

“Come on.” Skywalker knocks his shoulder against Rex’s, a little harder than he might’ve if he were sober. It takes all of Rex's concentration to keep his balance. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it?”

“’Course I have,” Rex says. “Just don’t see much point thinkin’ about it when we’re in the middle of a war.”

Skywalker smiles though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But that’s the _best_ time to think about it.”

Rex casts his eyes to the city. Peace seemed so far away. If he were being honest with himself, he couldn’t even imagine coming out of this war alive.

“I wanna start a family.”

Rex looks at Skywalker like he’s grown a second head.

“Hey! I’m being serious.” Skywalker folds his arms over his chest, sulking. “What, is that so hard to believe?”

Rex’s gaze falters. He shakes his head, not trusting his ability to speak without saying something foolish.

When he looks back, Skywalker is smiling wistfully. “I wanna live somewhere green. Maybe have a farm.” He turns to Rex, grinning, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Obi-Wan can be my farmhand.”

Rex lets out a surprised laugh.

“Doesn’t that sound nice?” Skywalker nudges Rex with his hip. “You can come visit. If you want.”

Rex looks down at his hands, plays with the sleeve of Skywalker’s robe. He allows himself a small smile. “That does sound nice.” He glances back up at his general. “…Anakin.”

The smile Anakin gives him is brighter than all the lights in Coruscant.

**Author's Note:**

> anakin: *breathes*  
> rex: hope this doesn't awaken anything in me
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
> \- _Rex'ika:_ little Rex  
> \- _jetii:_ jedi


End file.
